Distance
by chyunine
Summary: [One-Shot, one-sided Sherlock/John, Sherlock-centric] Because as much as he wants to, he can't hate Mary for falling in love with John when he's done the same. No spoilers for series 3.


**Distance**

_Because as much as he wants to, he can't hate Mary for falling in love with John when he's done the same._

**Origin:** I first wrote this when it was revealed that the third episode of series 3 would be called "His Last Vow", so it's basically my interpretation of what that could mean with Johnlock added to the mix. That, and I absolutely adore pining!Sherlock.

**Disclaimer:** So His Last Vow airs in about ten minutes and I'm pretty sure I had nothing to do with it at all. I own nothing.

**Acknowledgements: **Thanks so much to _Zylstra _for going above and beyond as my beta. I really valued your input and your suggestions.

**Notes: **Seeing as this was written about half a year ago, my version of Mary does not match up with the BBC version (who is totally awesome, by the way), and the events around the stag night and wedding are pretty much the opposite of what actually happened in Sign of Three. No spoilers for series 3 other than what we already knew going into the new episodes.

* * *

><p>John comes in flushed and slightly tipsy, looking ridiculously happy. Sherlock glances up from his microscope and his traitorous heart warms at the sight.<p>

"I'm getting married!" John exclaims ecstatically.

His heart drops like a dead weight in his chest.

_Stupid_. He knew this was coming. John had mentioned it a few days ago when he was out fretting about rings and trying to figure out the best way to propose. And Sherlock knew Mary wouldn't say no.

He offers up a fake smile. "Congratulations John."

John beams at him and his heart flutters. "I'm actually amazed she said yes. It seems almost too good to be true."

Sherlock merely hums back in response. Mary is irritatingly perfect; Sherlock can't find any reason for John to dump her except for the fact that Sherlock would rather John not have a girlfriend at all. She doesn't complain when John dashes off to help Sherlock on a case and seems immune to Sherlock's more vitriolic deductions.

And John loves her.

::

About a week before the wedding Sherlock receives a call from an unknown number. He stares at it for a moment and then sighs. Might as well get it over with.

"Hello Mary."

"Sherlock?"

He rolls his eyes. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"I—no. Um, I was wondering if you'd like to get lunch sometime? I thought we could talk over some things without John there."

Of course. She wants to play the nice fiancée. She wants them to be _friends_. He doesn't think he can spend a whole lunch hour with her. "Not lunch. Coffee?"

"Oh, sure. When are you free?" She sounds surprised when he accepts. He swallows, fingers tightening around the phone. He's doing it because John likes her. Because John loves her and will be marrying her.

::

She already has a cup of coffee sitting in front of her when he arrives.

Sherlock quickly orders his own (black, two sugars) before joining her on the other side of the small table.

"Sherlock! You made it!" She smiles, genuinely pleased to see him. She's even touched up her makeup from earlier. She really does want to have this conversation.

"Of course," he murmurs over his coffee wondering how to best get it over with.

Thankfully she gets straight to business. "I thought we could talk about the wedding. I love John and I want for us to get along—"

Sherlock stares at her. He really did want to be polite for John's sake, but he can't stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth.

"You want to say that you won't come between us. That John will still be able to be my friend while being your husband and your marriage won't change anything." His throat clenches around the word but Mary doesn't seem to notice. "You want to tell me that John cares about me and therefore you do as well. You want us to be friends because John would like for us to be friends and you feel the need to reassure me that nothing will change just because John will no longer be living with me." He narrows his eyes slightly. "Did I miss anything?"

She gives a little laugh, not offended by him talking over her. "No, I think that just about covers it." She pauses. "But really, you're John's best friend. I don't want you to feel as if he's choosing one of us over the other."

_But he is_. Sherlock closes his eyes briefly, so brief that it could be mistaken as a long blink. He notices how she doesn't say "choosing me over you". A small part of him wishes she did, just so he'd have an excuse to hate her.

When he opens his eyes she's looking at him differently. There's sympathy, definitely. And…is that pity?

His heart gives a sudden lurch of terror. She knows. _She knows she knows she knows. _ He glances around, wondering if he can make a run for it.

Mary watches him, hesitant. "Maybe we should take this somewhere else, perhaps somewhere more private?"

Wordlessly, he follows her out of the coffee shop.

::

They wind up on a bridge overlooking the Thames. It's hardly more private, but it does provide less opportunity for eavesdroppers. Sherlock breathes in the London scenery as an awkward silence settles between them.

Mary glances at him. "Sherlock..."

He stays silent, waiting to hear what she has to say, but she drifts off with a small shake of her head.

"I don't want your pity," he says harshly

"You should at least tell him."

He scoffs, letting out a puff of air through his nose.

"I'm serious."

"Oh and what good would that achieve?" He barks out a laugh, whirling around to face her. "He would pity me. But he wouldn't know what to do with me. I'd be defying his expectations of all that I am and he'd be out of his depth. He's a gentleman so of course he'd say it wouldn't affect our relationship but things would be strained, awkward. And soon we'd just drift apart. And that is not something I'm willing to live with."

He can survive not living with John. He's not so sure if he can survive without John in his life.

Mary watches him sadly. "You must hate me."

Sherlock laughs bitterly. "I can't hate you. I've tried but I simply can't."

Mary looks bemused and he sighs.

"I may have looked into your records." The admission is painful. "And I couldn't find anything wrong. No scandals or affairs or anything to suggest that you'd be any less than everything John would want. You're able to tolerate my deductions, and you don't mind me stealing John away from your dates. There's nothing for me to hate about you." He crushes the empty coffee cup in his hand.

"Except that I fell in love with John," she says gently.

He shakes his head. "No," he says hoarsely, leaning over the bridge to gaze into the water. "That would be hypocritical. How can I hate you for something I myself have done?"

And it's the truth. He knows all too well the reasons why Mary loves John, why anyone would love John. And as long as she loves him Sherlock can't complain because John deserves to be with someone like her.

Mary's eyes soften. "You are a better man than you would have us think, Sherlock Holmes."

He smiles humourlessly. "Only with John." It seems like a universal truth now. Because John is the exception to everything in his life. John, who had come into his life, who had taught him friendship, taught him to care, taught him to love...

Mary studies him and it irks him that he can't tell what she sees. "You don't deserve this," she says gently (gentle, always so fucking gentle). "No one deserves this."

Sherlock smiles that same humourless smile. "He's happy," he admits. "You can give him the things that I could never give him." He closes his eyes. "And…he loves you. Really, I have nothing to complain about."

"You're not happy though."

He opens his eyes. "Haven't you heard? I'm the psychopath. I don't get to be happy because the only thing I get off on is dead bodies," he says mockingly.

Mary frowns. "You know that's not true. And John would want you to be happy."

He snorts. "John is too kind for his own good. He's happy to make other people happy. Even if it comes as a detriment to himself, he's happy because he can help other people." He gazes off into the distance, the volume of his voice dropping. "I want to be happy for him. But I can't do that. I'm too fucking selfish to just be happy just because he's happy. I can't be altruistic like he is." He sighs. "But John deserves the most to be happy. At the very least I can give him that."

Mary watches him with unrestrained pity and he wants to snarl at her, scream that he doesn't want her fucking pity. But he knows it won't do anything.

"You should get going," he tells her quietly after a period of silence has passed, "if you want to make it to that meeting with your mother on time."

She sighs and pushes off from the bridge where she's been leaning—doesn't even ask how he knows. She pauses. Looks at him. "I don't know how to make this better for you."

Sherlock smiles sadly. "It's not your job to."

This—this is why she fits together with John so well. Both on a mission to save as many people they can, to make everyone they can happy. And they'll make each other happy. There's no room for Sherlock in the equation.

Because he knows himself, and he's not above recognizing his faults. He's selfish—he's said as much to Mary. And he'd just keep taking what he could from John and never give anything back. He'd destroy John.

He trusts John with his heart but he'd never trust himself with John's.

Mary gives him one last pitying look before she turns away.

"Mary." It's quiet, almost too quiet for her to hear, but she does, and she turns around to look at him.

"Please...don't tell John."

Her eyes soften as she watches him and he hates to think about what she can read on his face. He's lost touch with his cool exterior and he's struggling to get it back, to hide everything Mary had laid bare.

"I promise," she states solemnly. "Good luck, Sherlock Holmes."

She doesn't specify what for, and he doesn't ask.

He watches as she walks away but doesn't move from his position.

::

John spends his stag night before his wedding at 221B. It's just as normal as any other night with a few drinks thrown into the mix, but Sherlock is choking, suffocating with words unsaid.

Everything John does—every word said, every movement made—only serves to make Sherlock's heart swell before he stomps it down, reminding himself fiercely that John is straight, that John has a fiancée, that John is getting _fucking married _tomorrow.

Sherlock knows this just may be the last time the two of them spend a night together like this.

Just the two of them in the living room, sitting companionably without need for conversation to fill the silence.

He hates it. Hates that there even is a last time.

He may even hate John Watson a little, too.

Sherlock has never wanted to kiss him more.

John goes to bed earlier than normal, but not before placing a mug of tea before Sherlock, who remains on the sofa. Sherlock refuses to drink it out of spite.

(He so desperately wants to pull John back, entrap him in his arms and make sure John will never leave him.

He doesn't.)

He waits until John's room is quiet, waits an extra hour after John had fallen asleep before creeping up the stairs to John's bedroom. The door opens soundlessly under his touch and he quietly steps into the room.

Sherlock is aware this may be A Bit Not Good.

Stepping softly over to the side of the bed, he gazes down at John's sleeping form.

He runs his fingers through John's hair, cataloguing sensations. The way John's hair feels moving across his fingers. The sound of the contented sigh John lets out as he relaxes against Sherlock's touch. The slight quiver of air he can feel against his arm every time John exhales. The feel of John's skin against the back of his hand as he strokes John's hair back from his forehead.

John has given Sherlock so much, and Sherlock knows it's his turn to give something in return.

John will always own his heart, even if he never realizes it, and Sherlock will do everything in his power to make sure John is happy, even if it means watching John leave.

Because John is the best fucking man that he has ever met and no one deserves to be happy as much as John does.

And Sherlock will live the rest of his life alone, but it will be okay because John will get what he's always dreamed of.

In less than twenty-four hours John will stand across from Mary in a church. He will promise to love and cherish her, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do them apart.

But for now, Sherlock kneels beside John's bed, taking one of John's hands in his own, and presses his lips to it, making a vow of his own.

He will always be there for John, if John should ever need him. Because he knows that not even death would be able to stem the amount of _feeling_ he has for John.

There's no ring. No symbol of unbroken union. And that's because there _is_ no union. It's nothing more than a broken man pledging himself to a man who will remain forever ignorant.

Sherlock will never again make any kind of vow.

It is both his first and his last vow.

Sherlock stands up from his position on the floor, gently lowering John's hand back to the bed.

He brushes his hand against John's hair once more, stroking it, locking it inside his mind palace, and he promises to never delete a single moment of John.

Slowly, Sherlock leans over and brings his lips to rest against John's forehead. He pauses, then closes his eyes as he allows himself to brush his lips across John's.

He straightens up and has to resist the urge to touch John one last time.

_This is your heart, and you should never let it rule your head._

His gaze on John is steady as he whispers the three words he knows he will never repeat.

He walks out of the room, closing the door behind him, and stumbles down the stairs, suddenly gasping for breath. It's not until he reaches his own room that he realizes his vision is blurred and that he's not so much gasping as sobbing.

Tomorrow he'll stand next to John in the honorary place as best man. He will stand and give a speech at the reception, extolling John's virtues all the while hoping that no one will be able to see the turmoil within.

He rests his forehead against the wall as he allows the tears to fall.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I'm pretty sure this sat around on my hard drive since August, but with the ending of Sign of Three I had to dig it out for angsty Johnlock feels. Not to mention I'm absolutely terrified for His Last Vow.

Title comes from the song "Distance" by Christina Perri.

_~chrishuyen_

_Word Count: 2,423  
><em>_Posted 12 January 2014_


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